The Sound of Violins
by Master Of All Imagination
Summary: Watson, haunted by memories of Holmes's death at Reichenbach, resolves to once and for all set his ghosts at rest.   Rated T for character death.
1. Part 1

The Sound of Violins Part 1

**A/N: *smiles ashamedly* Guess where the idea for this came from? The Jonas Brothers lyric, "I love the sound of violins/ and making someone smile." But it is not nearly as happy-go-lucky as its namesake song. In fact, this is, like, major angst. I don't know where it all came from; I'm actually pretty happy right now. Will it have a happy ending? Maybe, maybe not… you'll just have to read to find out! **

The bed sheets seemed to suffocate me as I tossed and turned beneath them. A thousand different pictures flashed through my sleeping mind: _The wheels of a hansom rolling past, _the_ woman, a cane leaning against the doorframe, a seven-per-cent solution lying innocently on the mantle, a bow- a violin-_

_And suddenly, music. Mendelssohn's Lieder. Strains of a violin floating tantalizingly through the air, and images of its player- first a profile, then a back view, but never from the front._ Holmes's head floated in front of me, and though I could see him, I could not see his face. I walked around him, but he turned away each time I got close. I was getting dizzy from walking in circles. So dizzy, so… _and then I was falling._ It was the cliffs of Reichenbach all over again, except this time was not Holmes that fell, it was _I_. He reached out for my hand, called my name, and in an instant, we switched places, and it was I reaching out for Holmes's hand and he was falling, falling, falling, _dead_…

I felt Mary's hand on my shoulder startle me awake. My forehead was covered in a sheen of sweat, and my body shook as I sat bolt upright in bed, breathing hard…

"John, what's wrong?" I looked into her eyes and I felt the fleeing edges of my nightmare recede. She understood all in a single glance. "It was the falls again, wasn't it?" I nodded and gulped.

"It's always the same. Always the falls. Even though I didn't see him go over the edge, it is the image that always returns…" I passed a hand over my face in exhaustion, checking my watch. Three A.M. Far too early to be awake. I said to my wife, "Get some sleep, Mary. I need some air." She reached out as if to stop me from getting out of bed, and for a moment my memory flashed and replaced her arm with Holmes's- I shut my eyes quickly and turned away.

"Are you alright, my dear?" I nodded absently as I pulled on my dressing gown. I quickly realized Mary would not be able to see the motion in the dark, and I said aloud,

"Yes. Don't wait up for me. I shall be a while." Though I could hardly see her, I read the confusion in her voice as clear as day.

"Where are you going?" I had grabbed my cane when the memory flashed again. _A lonely stick leaning against a doorframe. Ownerless. _I almost lost control of my emotions, my voice cracking as I said to her, almost not caring if she understood,

"I'm going back, Mary. I have to. I have to go back." I was out of the door before she could protest.

The lights of the streetlamps flashing by blurred together, all one luminous ribbon floating out the window. When I alighted in front of the familiar door, the wheels of the retreating cab teased another memory from the depths of my dream- _The rattle of wheels crossing the cobblestone streets- _It was useless to try to keep them out. For so long they had pervaded my unconscious, it seemed logical that they should now spill over into my waking moments as well.

I opened the door of 221 B and stepped inside. All was dark, but I needed no light to tread the well-worn steps up to my- _our_- old rooms. My hand reached for the knob automatically, and I had to check myself to stop from opening the door. I thought for a moment, and for that fleeting moment, I had a doubt. I had not been back here in almost a year since returning from Reichenbach. Did I really want to do this? Torture myself with the sight of an empty flat? But _I wanted it._ I wanted waves of memories to wash over me, though utterly sad, it was their bitter sweetness I craved. Steeling myself, I opened the door.

_A favorite tune, played on the Stradivarius Holmes always kept in the corner…_ All was dark in the flat, and I headed, as if bidden by the memory, to the violin. I groped blindly for a moment, stumbling through the flat that was still in a state of perpetual mess from Mrs. Hudson's preservation of it. But when I reached the corner, _the violin was not there._ I turned on the gas, too frantic to light the oil lamps, and cast about the room. I knew the flat well, and the Stradivarius could be hiding in no other place than the corner where Holmes always kept it. _Where was the violin?_

**A/N: Hey, look! A cliffhanger! I don't know how long this is going to turn out. Certainly seems not to want to be a one-shot.**


	2. Part 2

_Contents of a note affixed to a slightly battered, brown paper package sent to a mysterious persona named "Sigerson."_

My dear brother,

I have sent along your Stradivarius to Reichenbach as requested. I understand your reluctance to disclose your location, even in these letters, and I hope it will reach you in time for your rendezvous there. Though I think it foolish of you to carry it around with you on your travels, I understand your attachment to it and the ties to Baker Street it represents. I hope it was not damaged along the post-route.

Mycroft

* * *

><p>Lestrade must be the most infuriatingly useless man of my acquaintance. When I talked to him yesterday at the yard about the theft of Holmes's Stradivarius, he told me in condescending tones that I was still shook up over my friend's death and would be best to leave the matter alone. In fact, he was certain that it was still in the flat somewhere, and I had just overlooked it. I had spent the whole night searching the flat, and to no avail. I told him this, but he just shook his head, smiled, and escorted me out.<p>

I was unfazed. If he would not assist me in my search, I would conduct my own investigation. It was easy, almost comforting to slip into a routine Holmes would have been proud of. I would start my investigation at the source, which was Baker Street. Then I would interview the witnesses: Mrs. Hudson sees everyone who comes and goes in her building. She would know if anyone had broken in or stole from the house.

She was ecstatic to see me, and when I told her that the purpose of my visit was not strictly social she seemed not to mind.

"Mrs. Hudson, I was here last night, and I noticed that Holmes's violin was missing from the flat. Has anyone broken in or stolen anything in the time since Holmes…" I hesitated. "Since Holmes died?" She shook her head.

"No, never! We have no theft here, I can assure you! But between you and I," she said, leaning forward conspiratorially, "It is mostly due to the lingering reputation of the late great Mr. Holmes that it is due. Robbers have no courage to come trying 'round here, no sir. But if its all the same, the only one who has been here about your friend was actually his brother. Never even knew he had kin, in fact, so you can imagine my skepticism, seeing as he was much a sought after man in life, but Mr. Mycroft soon allayed those fears, aye. Said only that he was here to pick up a few things left to him courtesy of his brother's will, and gentlemanly as you please, he gathers them up and drives off again lickety-split." A light went on in my brain, followed by the fervor ignited by a lead.

"Thank you very much, Mrs. Hudson. You've been immensely obliging." I tipped my hat and called a cab, giving the driver directions for the Diogenes club.

Mycroft met me in the Stranger's Room promptly, still looking a bit startled from the news of who his caller was. He sat across from me and offered me a cigarette, which I refused. I was far too excited to smoke.

"Mr. Holmes, I have come today to ask you a question." Mycroft nodded for me to continue. "I know from Mrs. Hudson you came to the flat recently and took away some things from the flat that were left to you by your brother's will- namely, his Stradivarius. Now, I find it strange that you choose now, almost a year after his death, to claim his violin, and I think I have every right in voicing my curiosity as to why you have taken it. Surely it cannot be for money, as I know you to be well off, and equally surely not for use, as I know you cannot play. So I ask: Why have you taken it?"

Mycroft regarded me with surprise and admiration, and something akin to- joy? Could it be? Confused, I listened as he responded,

"It seems some of my dear brother's thought processes have rubbed off on you, Watson! But…" and here he hesitated. "If you want the answers you seek, and you are ready to accept the heavy consequences of them, you must return to Reichenbach." I visibly started in my chair, narrowing my eyes at the man across from me at the mention of the place of Holmes's death.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I demanded suspiciously, eying him closely.

"My dear man, by the friendship you had with my brother and my honor as a gentleman, I swear to you I am telling the truth. Certain circumstances do not permit full disclosure, but I promise you, Reichenbach will reveal all."Mycroft's words rang true and I had no reason to doubt them, so I thanked him for his time and returned home to my wife, pondering all the while the mysterious ultimatum he had given me. _Return to Reichenbach._ Almost immediately a memory engulfed me.

_High alpine slopes, the roar of the waterfall drowned out by the beating of my own heart as I rushed up the path to where I had left Holmes alone- _

_Peering down into swirling, foaming waters, calling his name over and over again…_

The cab lurched to a stop outside my house, and I was thankful for the interruption of those morbid memories it provided. I had made up my mind, and now all that was left was to inform Mary of my decision and pack for the long journey back to Reichenbach.


	3. Part 3

**A/N: From here on out it gets a bit AU. Ok, a LOT AU. And also some angst/character death (though I won't say who, because it'll spoil it,) which is really unusual of me. Just thought I'd warn ya.**

Mary and I were in the sitting room. I steeled myself for what I knew I had to say next, for I knew she did not enjoy being parted from me even for a few days, let alone for the fortnight it would take to get to Switzerland by train.

"Mary, I am going on a trip." She fixed me with her gentle blue eyes and said steadily,

"I know. I'm going with you." I fumbled for words.

"Mary, you don't even know where I am going! You cannot possibly-"

"John, I know very well where you are going. You are going to Reichenbach. Last night when you said to me, 'I'm going back. I have to go back,' even though you meant Baker Street, I knew that you would eventually be drawn back to the falls. I know you, John. The ghosts that have haunted you this past year have made you a changed man, and I am as eager as you to finally see them purged." It was at times like these when I wondered at my good fortune to have such a wonderful wife. I stepped forward and pressed her fingers to my lips, saying softly,

"Then we shall leave as soon as possible. And let me say that I am immensely glad you are to accompany me, for I do not think I could bear the journey alone once more." Mary nodded and withdrew to pack our things.

Three days later our affairs were in order and we hailed a cab to take us to the station. We were to catch a steamer across the Channel and go by train most of the way to Switzerland, finishing off the journey by horse and carriage. As we boarded the coal-belching boat, I could not help recall the last time I had been across the water. I had returned to England, alone and bereft of my best friend. I remembered the train ride west, a seeming eternity spent staring out rain-drenched windows and foggy landscapes which blurred together with the tears in my eyes. I was indeed thankful for the comforting presence of my wife this time, for I had spoken the truth when I told her that I could not have borne the journey alone once more.

Nevertheless I found myself lost to dark contemplation for the first half of the journey, out of which my wife tried in vain to coax me. The latter half, however, removed the dismal spell my memories and broodings had cast over me in favor of a sort of nervous anticipation. As we neared the falls once more I was filled with a fervor. I was in turn excited beyond reason to see the falls in all their majestic power, and then so nervous that I should not find the answers Mycroft had promised me and this trip should all have been for naught that my stomach knotted itself into hopelessly sickening contortions.

I believe the only thing that kept me sane was Mary's hand on my arm. The fortnight passed and deposited us in the same inn Holmes and I had stayed in a year ago. A year, indeed. Sometimes it seemed that not just a year had passed but a whole decade. The first and second days we spent in idle walks upon the alpine scenery. When I showed every inclination to spend the third in the same way, my wife confronted me.

"John. I know you are hesitant to take the final step, but you must. You must go up that alpine trail and return to the spot where he fell. You will not feel better nor find any reprieve until you do so." I took her hand and beseeched her to come with me.

"No, John. You must do this alone. I will come halfway, but I will leave you there." I held her gaze for a long moment, and I could see in her eyes the wisdom of this.

"You're right, Mary. I have to go back. I have to go back alone."

We made the steep ascent together to the halfway mark, and it all passed in a blur. I said goodbye to Mary quickly, fearful my nerve would fail me if I lingered, and continued on alone. As I approached the top, my memories started to flash before my eyes once more. The sound of violins floated on the wind to my ears, teasing me, tantalizing me with that which I would never again hear. _What was that little thing of Chopin she played? Tra la la, lira lay-_ Holmes's voice echoed in my mind and brought a smile to my face. I imagined I could hear the notes growing louder as I approached that spot. The roar of the falls was never quite loud enough to drown it out. I knew I must be hallucinating, and as a doctor this raised alarum bells in my mind. I patiently ignored them.

I was almost there, and unconsciously I slowed down. I wanted to delay the moment as long as possible. I think I was expecting something magnificent, some illuminating flash of thought to assail me upon sight of the falls, and I was afraid that I should be disappointed. The music was at its loudest point yet, and in vain did I try to clear it from my mind. It was as if it was _there,_ it was as if Holmes were standing right around the bend playing his violin…

I walked on around the corner, and the sight that greeted me almost caused me to faint. Silhouetted against the raging white backdrop of the falls stood Holmes, violin pressed against his chin, drawing the bow over the strings, oblivious to me and everything else around him.

I believed myself to be hallucinating. I blamed the fatigue of the journey, the high strain of emotional toil I had experienced recently, and perhaps the altitude and my exhaustion from the hike. I shut my eyes tightly to block out the vision, angry with myself for letting my feelings manifest themselves to me this way. I strode purposefully to the edge, keeping phantom-Holmes to the peripheral of my vision, never fully focusing on him in the hopes that he would dissipate.

As I stood on the ledge overlooking the falls, my feet in the very same spot I stood on the day Holmes died and in full view of the phantom-Holmes, the music abruptly cut off. I turned my head to see that Holmes had stopped playing and was walking over to me, seemingly real and alive. The expression on his face was one of pure shock and amazement, a look I have never seen him wear in all our years as flat mates. It was the first thing which made me falter in my conviction that he was an apparition.

And when he called my name, and demanded to know what I was doing here, was the second. I slowly revolved on the spot to stare at Holmes. He was standing next to me, violin dangling forgotten from his hands. I looked closely at it. It was indeed the missing Stradivarius. A thousand questions flew through my mind, but the one that trumped them all and toppled out of my mouth was:

"Holmes! Are you a ghost?" My friend gave a shaky laugh and shook his head.

"No, my dear Watson, I am not. But I have not been completely honest with you about the circumstances of my death. I think you have realized this by now," he said, shock fading from his face to be replaced by an upward quirk of his brow in amusement.

"Holmes…" I reached out and grasped his arm. It was real! Solid! But the real proof would be if Mary could also see him… I excitedly sprinted away down the path, calling her name.

"Mary! Mary! Come quickly, Mary!" She must have followed me up a little ways more, for I met her shortly, and I ignored her cries for an explanation as I seized her hand and led her to stand before Holmes.

"Mary," I asked, my voice shaking, "Do you see the man there? Do you see Holmes standing there?" She was as shocked as I had been, but she was nodding yes, and as she did my face split into a grin. "Holmes! You're alive! You didn't fall! Oh, good god, Holmes, how is this possible? How did you get that violin?" Holmes seemed confused at my last query, but he sat me down on a rock- the same rock I had found his note and cigarette case all that time ago!- and explained to me, while Mary looked on,

"Moriarty never forced me over the falls, my dear Watson. In fact, I bested him and merely led you to believe that I had followed him to his fate. I thought it best if I were believed dead, though I see now that it was not to last. As to the violin- well, I admit it was one of the only things I craved for from my old life, and I had Mycroft send it on to the post here so I might pick it up without revealing my hideout or the fact that I still lived. But how came you to be here? And with Mrs. Watson, no less?"

"I… well, I dreamt… " I stuttered, and not wanting to reveal my disturbing nightmares amended, "I went back to Baker Street and noticed your violin had been stolen. I asked Mrs. Hudson and she revealed that Mycroft had come by and picked it up. I struck me as strange, and when I questioned him, he told me that if I were to return to Reichenbach, all my questions would be answered. So here I am- and here you are!" Holmes smiled ruefully.

"Mycroft," he said, half to himself, "I should have known he would do something like this. He never did approve of my decision. But then again, I never quite came to terms with it either." Mary was looking on with sheer joy written all over her face.

"Oh, isn't this delightful!" She exclaimed. She spun around once and clapped her hands with delight as she looked at us, eyes shining. In the next instant, though, her eyes lost their merriment and took on the sheen of fear… her foot was slipping, she had lost her balance when she twirled, she was toppling, falling backwards- in vain did I reach out a hand to save her, in vain did I lunge towards her, and I would have accompanied her right down to the depths of the water below if Holmes had not seized me round the waist and pulled me back.

My heart plummeted as surely as she did over the edge, and this time I did watch as she tumbled over the edge, her scream blending with the roar of the falls until I could hear it no more. My legs staggered, failing me, and I lurched backwards into Holmes, who supported me. I could not stand on my own, and my mouth fell open in pure shock and surprise. Another second, though, and I knew: I knew that now, instead of dreaming of Holmes's death, I would dream of my wife's.

I could not help the tears which poured from my eyes and the sobs which escaped me. Holmes put a comforting arm around me and supported me as I wept into his shoulder. My emotions had finally boiled over and poured out of me. I was faintly ashamed to have broken down, but I knew that Holmes would understand and would not judge me for it.

I wanted to remain. I wanted to stare over the edge, I wanted to entertain myself with the impossible hope that Mary would somehow come floating up from the abyss to greet me once more, but it was an empty hope, and Holmes was right to lead me away and down the path back to the inn.

I do not know which walk was longer: the walk I took down after Mary's death, or after Holmes's. For that matter, I wondered which journey back to England would seem the most unending. I had taken it two distinct times. For the first, I was alone. Now Holmes was with me. I could not help but marvel at the cruel sense of justice this world possessed: I had lost a friend and gained a wife, and now I had regained my friend but lost my wife. And this time, there was to be no violin music to draw me back to her. The only music I should hear from that particular instrument would now be from Holmes, raking the bow across the strings on lonely nights in Baker Street. Somehow the thought gave me comfort. Somehow the thought that Holmes would play his violin once more soothed me. But the thought that Mary would never hear it- _that_ tore at my heart, and plunged me once more into desolate sorrow.

~The End~


End file.
